Take Me to the River
by x Bout as Stable as the Wind x
Summary: [pre-Thomas] After a close call with a Griever, Newt is terrified and plagued with nightmares; Alby finally brings himself to interact with the younger boy stuck with him here in this Maze. [Alby & Newt friendship one-shot]


_"_ _My secret friend, oh, take me to the river, my secret friend; so we can swim together… forever."_

 _-IAMX,_ _My Secret Friend_

 **xXx**

"Shuck it, Newt, RUN!"

His own voice hurt his own ears, but Alby didn't stop screaming. He'd screamed louder when first awakening in the Box after all; so he knew this terror that gripped his soul and forced the hollers out of his throat. Only, there was some new type of horror added to this fear as well, not for his own safety, but for the younger boy desperately dashing towards him, face ashen as he struggled to make it through the large door of the Maze before it closed completely. "RUN, NEWT!" Alby shouted again, noticing the blood on the blonde's shirt, the several bruises and cuts on his face as he hurled himself forward. The distinct roar of a Griever echoed deeper in the Maze's pathways, sending chills down Alby's spine. The dark-skinned boy reached out a hand almost automatically, his fist closing around Newt's arm as soon as he was within reach; then, with all his strength, the older boy pulled the younger towards him, so that they collided into each other's chests just as the Maze doors finished shutting with a loud clang.

Both just lay in the grass side-by-side for several moments, breathing heavily, Alby's mind whirring with the smells of sweat and adrenaline, his mind buzzing with the loud roaring of the shifting Maze, his vision blurring as beads of perspiration fell into his eyes. He blinked rapidly and then grunted as he sat up, wincing at his aching muscles and sore throat. Sore throat from screaming, he realized, and he turned to the boy whom he'd been calling after, who was still lying on the grass making no move to get up.

He hadn't really been paying attention to this newcomer – Newt, he had to keep reminding himself of the kid's name – because he'd spent a whole month alone in this place, and he'd done just fine surviving on his own before this tall, skinny boy had come up the Box only two weeks or so before. Newt was quiet, kept to himself mostly; but shuck it, the kid was too klunkin' curious for his own good. Instead of avoiding the Maze, as Alby sure as heck did, only two days after arriving Newt wanted to **_explore_** it. Wanted to see if there was a way out, despite the horrid creatures Alby had warned him of. He wanted to escape, and so every day, Newt ran out there like an idiot, making little maps and trying to find patterns in the way the Maze moved at night. Stupid, stupid. From the looks of it, Newt had almost been a Griever meal this time, and he hoped this would teach him a lesson about the Maze: never go in it.

Newt finally caught his breath enough to sit up, slouching as he examined the big gash on his chest and the little scratches all along his arms. He winced as he gingerly touched his face, his blue eyes going wide at all the blood staining his clothing.

Alby watched, frowning, expression one of stone. "Were you stung?" he asked, voice monotone. "Did you find anything?"

Newt looked up at him almost shyly, biting his lower lip. "I wasn't stung," he answered, looking back down and scowling at the ground. "And no, I didn't find a bloody thing."

 _Of course you didn't. Because there's nothing to find_. He hadn't expected any good news, and so he didn't feel disappointed as he stood up, stretching, glowering all the while. _Do you see now? Do you see that there's no point in going out into that death trap? It'll be impossible to find a way out of there, don't you see?_ "Hope now you get the point," he said, sounding a bit more harshly than he meant to. The kid cringed away on the ground, his fourteen-year-old (or something around that age) lanky frame awkward and bunched up as he pulled his knees to his wounded chest. "There ain't no escapin' this place," Alby continued, turning away. "So get used to it, and get comfortable – we're gonna be here a while."

He walked off after that, back to his solitary little lean-to with the little cot and baggies of supplies, the lean-to that he stayed in, alone, most of the day, without bothering to interact with the blonde boy now living in the meadow-place-thingy (the Glade, Newt had called it once) with him. He walked off, and didn't bother to look back. He didn't see any reason to.

 **xXx**

He awoke as soon as he heard the first scream, and was out of his lean-to and running across the… Glade… as the second one echoed through the night air. His feet were bare, shirt open, eyes wide and confused as he stopped for a second and listened, trying to figure out where the sound was coming from.

 _There's only one other person in this entire place with you, shuckface, who do you_ _ **think**_ _is screaming?_ his mind rebuked as Alby took off running again, this time during the little tent that Newt slept in. It didn't take him long – Newt had set it up less than a yard from where Alby lived – and threw open the flap just as Newt screamed again, throwing himself across the tent, tangled in blankets, obviously still trapped in a hellish slumber. He kicked out with one foot, catching Alby in the knee and causing the younger boy to collapse onto the tent floor, hissing in pain as he collided with the hard ground. It only took him a second of cradling his knee before he pushed himself up into a crouched position, kneeling on the floor while his arms moved to pin down Newt's shoulders. "Newt? Newt, can ya hear me?" he called, grunting from the effort of keeping the younger boy from flailing everywhere. "Newt! Wake up!"

Newt's icy eyes finally snapped open, pupil's dilated with fear and confusion as the blonde ripped himself away from Alby and began scrambling backwards, fighting for space. Alby fell backwards, not expecting the sudden movement. "Whoa… **_whoa_**! Newt! Calm down! It's me!" He struggled to get upright again, noting now Newt covered his head with his arms as he tried to fit himself deeper into the corner he was already tucked into. "Newt! Hey! It's me, Alby! It's Alby." He tried lowering his voice, tried to add some calmness to the situation. "It's just Alby, Newt, nothin' else. Ya were having a dream is all."

Newt still cringed when Alby crept closer, but at least he didn't fight this time. Instead, he just sat in the corner, visibly shaking, waiting with dread until Alby was close enough to touch his arm. He flinched when the older boy did so, and Alby noticed the panic in his eyes. He'd have to get rid of that before moving on with anything else. "Hey, Newt?" he whispered, forcing a smoothness into his voice that he had never tried before. He'd never had a reason before now. "Newt? Do ya see me? It's Alby. Alby, from, from the Glade. Alby." He paused, noted the dried blood on Newt's shirt, the way the kid's knife was out near his sleeping bag like he'd expected a monster to come drag him to hell during the night. "Ain't no Grievers here, Newt," he said, pursing his lips when Newt flinched away at the word 'Griever'. "Ain't no Griever here, remember? They can't get pass the walls; they can't hurt ya now."

Newt peeked out from under his arms at the older boy, eyes shimmering. They lost some of their wild look, fortunately. "Alby?" he said quietly, so quiet Alby barely heard him. "Alby, why are you here?"

Why was he hear? He barely looked at the blonde long enough to scold him or yell at him; he certainly hadn't spent any 'quality time' bonding and making friends. But he **_had_** heard screaming tonight, and he'd followed those sounds to Newt's tent, and then he'd woken the kid up from an obvious horrifying nightmare. That was all he really had as an explanation, and now he didn't know what he was supposed to do. What? Give the kid all the stupid klunk about how everything was going to be okay, and that he had nothing to fear? That was all lies, and Alby didn't like lying. At all.

So he just settled for a small answer. "Heard you needed some help in here, that's all," he said slowly, licking his lips as he eyed the edges of scab visible through the rips of Newt's shirt. "Why don't you let me help you get cleaned up a little, huh? That might make ya feel better."

Newt was no longer terrified; now he looked wary. "Why? You never bloody cared before."

No, he hadn't, and Alby had to admit to himself now that that made him feel just a bit guilty. "Well, I'm here now. So quit crying like a baby and let me clean ya up, ya shank."

Took some more coaxing, but Newt eventually let Alby pull him up and onto his feet, let the older boy guide him out of his tiny tent towards the decent-sized lean-to that he'd never been allowed to enter before. He sat down on the cot while Alby grabbed a towel and bowl of water, and then watched as his injuries were cleaned. He couldn't help shivering every few minutes, couldn't help thinking about the slimy ooze of the Grievers and their sharp teeth. Their monstrous appendages that slipped in and out of their bulbous bodies, making them faster, more lethal. Making them able to catch up to him, no matter how hard he ran, no matter how much of his terror he put into his legs. He could run, but they would always catch up, they'd always find him and then they'd kill him in the worst ways possible…

"Newt!"

Alby's voice smashed the flashback into oblivion, and Newt found himself lying on his back on Alby's cot, with the older boy hovering over him. Frowning down at him as he looked him over. "Ya gotta stop thinkin' 'bout it," he said firmly. Newt frowned right back up at him.

"Easy for you to say; you've never had one of their bloody legs slice ya open in the chest while you're running for your bloody life." He knew this was true, knew Alby had never dared get close enough to the Griever's to be seriously harmed, to be given more than a tiny bruise from falling or tripping.

Newt, on the other hand, had been right **_under_** the thing. He'd cut the time too close, because even though the things only came out in the evening, he'd lost track of time and had found himself corner. He'd smelt the thing's shucking breath on his neck, had smelt its rank odor, had almost been crushed between its jaws. He shuddered at the memory, and barely noticed Alby pushing the bowl and towel aside as he sat up on the cot with him. He was cold.

A blanket found its way over his shoulders, and then a strong, stable warmth was against his back. Not creepily intimate, but comforting. Alby. Confused, Newt tried to turn and face him, but Alby put a hand on his shoulder, not letting him move. "Just relax," the other boy's strong voice soothed him. "Relax and get some rest. You're hurt and exhausted. Stop thinking and just go to sleep."

Right. Sleep. He shivered again. Sleep was where the Grievers could get to him again, in his nightmares, where they would always find him.

"Newt… stop. You're scaring yourself. Just sleep." A pause. "Ain't gonna let anythin' happen to ya, don't you worry 'bout that. Just close your eyes now."

He'd never seen anything but a stranger in Alby, never thought that the older boy would be his friend, or companion, or heck, his protector. Didn't think that Alby could **_care_** , at least, not like this. Not like how a young man would treat his younger brother. Not like they were the last two people alive, and they had to survive off each other – but then again, they just might me. They didn't remember anything different. Newt considered pondering this new side of Alby more, but his eyelids were already sliding shut, and then it was all dark, and Alby's heartbeat was lulling him to sleep. The Grievers in his dreams seemed to be chased away, replaced by a new little beacon of hope that shone in the darkness. He sighed quietly, and went to sleep.

Alby tightened his hold subconsciously on the younger boy next to him, and closed his own eyes. "Night, Newt."

 ***end***


End file.
